


When It's All Over

by Nopride4531



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Arthur Morgan Is A Good Man, But first he must suffer, But for events relatively early in the game, Don't Judge Me, Early-ish in Canon, F/M, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, He also cares so much, Hurt/Comfort, I just wanted more Arthur and John content, I'll add spoiler warnings at the beginning of each chapter in the notes, I'm gonna Red Dead Die, John Marston Deserves Happiness, Sorry Not Sorry, Spoilers, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-16 15:52:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16498520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nopride4531/pseuds/Nopride4531
Summary: Arthur Morgan and John Marston don't always see eye-to-eye, but hell, family's family—no matter what. Colm O'Driscoll should've thought of that before he took John hostage, wanting revenge against Dutch. But in the end, it's not Dutch he should be worried about.SPOILERS FOR THE BEGINNING-ISH OF THE GAME. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.





	When It's All Over

It had been a rough couple days, that much was for sure. Arthur still didn't know what went down on that boat in Blackwater, didn't know much of anything anymore. Still, Dutch said he had a plan; but hell, Dutch _always_ had a plan, and more often than not as of late, those plans brought nothing but trouble. And blood. Too much for Arthur's liking. He hadn't joined up to kill a bunch of innocent folk (though, if he was completely honest, he wasn't too sure why he _had_ started running with the van der Linde gang in the first place).  

They were holed up in the mountains now, trying to put the worst of the past few days behind them—and as much distance between themselves and the Law as they possibly could. Bad business, that Blackwater ordeal. Pinkertons everywhere, the money stashed away someplace not even Arthur knew, Jenny and Davey both dead, Mac and Sean missing... the list went on and on. Arthur could hardly tell up from down at this point, let alone what the gang was going to do next. Still, Dutch told him to keep faith, and keep faith he would. But given their present situation, he couldn't help but feel like things were... well, like they were coming to an end. 

Well, at least he and Javier had found John—alive. Arthur still hadn't forgiven him for that whole  "disappearing" stunt he pulled a while back, but hell, family was family and Arthur looked out for his own, makeshift as it was. Besides: it wasn't like John hadn't paid off his sins, especially now with those new wounds. Abigail—bless her heart—had sat with him day and night while he healed. By no means was he completely fixed up as of now, but he was out of the woods. And, despite Arthur's grudge, he was glad to see it. John Marston was his fellow brother, after all. Plus: the boy had a family, and Arthur would be damned if he let young Jack grow up without a father.

As Arthur sat on the edge of his bed, absently sketching the room in his journal, he found himself shaking his head. It seemed like the gang couldn't catch a break these days. The Pinkertons wouldn't give up the chase anytime soon, and now with the O'Driscoll's in the area? Hell, there was bound to be bloodshed in the upcoming weeks. Arthur knew it. Hosea knew it. Hell, even Dutch knew it, but he still kept leading them into the fire. But considering no one else had a better plan, the gang had little choice but to stick with him wholeheartedly. Arthur would gladly follow Dutch to the ends of the Earth, but the way things had been going, it seemed like the ends of the Earth were just on the horizon. 

He sighed and put his journal away. No sense in sketching something he would leave behind in no time at all. Slowly, he got to his feet. His shoulders were sore, likely from the stress of the past week, and he rolled them back a few times to work the kinks out. By no means did he consider himself old, but there was no denying he wasn't as young as he used to be. Aches and pains came with that package. Well, that and he hadn't gotten a decent night's sleep on that damn rickety bed. He'd tried to soften it up with a bedroll and some pillows, but it seemed like that had only made it uneven—and worse. No matter; he would find some way to fix it. Either that, or leave it behind. Whichever came first.

Dutch and Hosea were seated by the fireplace when Arthur walked into the living room. Judging by their hushed voices and furrowed brows, they didn't want to be disturbed. He waved his hand as he walked by them toward the front door. Hosea smiled briefly in greeting, but Dutch was too nose-deep in a map of the region to focus on anything else. Arthur didn't exactly care. In their situation, being friendly wasn't high on the list of priorities. 

Putting on his hat, Arthur pushed open the door and stepped outside. A fresh layer of snow coated the ground, despite Dutch's insistence that it should let up soon. Arthur rolled his eyes. Dutch van der Linde was brilliant when it came to planning and talking and robbing, but shit at predicting the weather. And apparently Pinkertons, too... if what happened in Blackwater was any telltale sign. Still, Arthur couldn't exactly pin all of that on him. Plenty of the others could've spotted the Pinkerton ambush before it happened. Or maybe no one could have seen it coming at all. Maybe it was just one of those things that went south. Nobody's fault.

A hard knot in his gut told him he was wrong.

It didn't matter. For now, they were all safe from the law. Starving and cold, but safe. Dutch and Hosea would get them out of this mess. They always did. 

Figuring it would be a good idea to check on their food stores, Arthur made his way to where Pearson had set himself up. He was in the middle of skinning a scrawny-looking deer when Arthur approached, didn't even glance his way before saying: 

"Give me a hand with this, will ya, Mr. Morgan?"

It took all Arthur had not to roll his eyes again. "Sure."

They made quick work of the rest of the animal. The pelt would probably be used for more blankets, or sold once everybody got off that God-forsaken mountain. Pearson looked down at the carcass with curled lips. 

"This won't last us," he said. "I just hope Marston and Lenny bring us back something good."

Arthur frowned. "Marston? Ain't he still off his feet?" 

"Nah." Pearson reached in his pocket and pulled out two cigarettes, plus a match. "Said he couldn't stand being cooped up anymore. So I sent him and Lenny off to do some hunting." 

Arthur waved away the cigarette offered to him and leaned against the wall of the makeshift kitchen. "You sure that was a good idea? I mean, Marston's barely healed up as is. And with those O'Driscoll's out there..."

"Eh, that boy'll be fine. It'll take more than a few scratches to get him out of commission."

As much as he wanted to believe Pearson, Arthur couldn't help but feel a hard knot forming in his stomach. Something wasn't sitting right with him. Marston was good with a gun, and Lenny could hold his own alright, but just two men against an army of O'Driscoll's? He didn't like those chances at all. And, to top it all off, Colm was probably furious as hell that they'd stolen his score. Arthur knew he would try to retaliate in some way. He just hoped it was later rather than sooner.

"Maybe I'll go join them," he told Pearson, careful to keep his tone clipped. "Three people can haul more game back to camp than just two."

Pearson gave him a confused look and looked like he was about to protest, but one glare from Arthur silenced him before he could even open his mouth. "I'll let Dutch know you're heading out," he muttered instead. "Just don't take too long. Sundown's only a few hours away."

Arthur gave a halfhearted shrug. "Marston and Lenny say where they were going?"

"Not really. Just that they were heading north a ways." 

"We'll bring you back something better than this." Arthur gestured to the deer. "Fix us up something good tonight. People need it."

He left Pearson before he could reply. The horse Arthur had taken from the Adler place was hitched by his cabin, and he mounted up after making sure the bow Charles had given him was still on his saddle. The knot in his stomach hadn't gone away, but it felt better once he was on the trail. He tried to tell himself he just wanted to make sure there were no O'Driscoll's in the area around camp, but hell, he couldn't even fool his own mind these days. Truth was, Lenny was young and Marston was wounded. Countless things could go wrong with those combinations. Add the O'Driscoll's into the equation, and the gang would have an even bigger mess on their hands. 

Snow started coming down about twenty minutes into the ride. Arthur knew he needed to move fast, lest he lose the tracks no doubt left by Marston and Lenny. He pushed his horse harder, barely able to see two feet in front of him. Marston and Lenny must've been crazy to ride out knowing a storm was coming. Crazy, or desperate. Arthur suspected the two went hand-in-hand. 

Not wanting to get caught in a flurry of snow far from camp, he was just about to turn back when he saw it: red splotches on the ground. 

He urged his horse toward them, then dismounted once he was close. Arthur knew blood when he saw it, and this blood was relatively fresh. He felt that knot in his stomach double in size. Drawing his revolver, he looked around for a trail, dreading what he would find at the end of it. The blood led him off toward the treeline, and he immediately decided following it on foot would be best. Quieter. If there were any O'Driscoll's in the area, he didn't want them to know he was coming. 

He crept through the forest, careful not to make too much unnecessary noise. Calling out would be risky, but he supposed that if worst came to worst, he would have to. He had maybe an hour before sundown, and he wanted to find Lenny and Marston before then. 

The trail went dead about fifty feet into the treeline. Arthur cursed and cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Marston!" He called. "Lenny! You out here?"

There was a brief moment of silence, and then, like the faintest whisper, a response:

"Arthur?"

It sounded like Lenny... and like it was coming to Arthur's left. He hurried off in that direction, charging through the snow like a bull seeing red. The knot in his stomach was almost painful now and growing by the second. Goddammit, he _knew_ Pearson shouldn't have sent out those two. Marston barely on his feet and Lenny being, well, more bookish than anything--it had been a bad idea from the start. 

"Lenny!" Arthur called again, louder this time. He didn't know if he was walking into a trap or what, but it was a risk he would have to take. "Keep talking, boy, tell me where you are!"

It seemed to take forever, but finally, the sorry sight of someone slumped against a tree reached Arthur's vision. Lenny. He sprinted toward him, carefully keeping his senses peeled for any sign of trouble. Thankfully--and it was a small mercy--, no O'Driscoll's were around. For the moment, at least. 

"Lenny," Arthur said as he knelt next to him. The kid was favoring his right side, and when Arthur carefully peeled his hand away, fresh blood gushed from a wound too large for anyone's liking. "What--"

"O'Driscoll's," Lenny gasped out. "They... Marston and I... We... They..." He tried to push himself up, but only succeeded in slumping further into the tree. "I--"

"Easy, there, easy." Arthur rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You're safe now, ya hear? Just tell me what happened."

Lenny sucked in a deep, pained breath. "It... It was the O'Driscoll's." He winced when Arthur put pressure on his wound, clearly doing his best not to scream. "They found us--John and I--while we were tracking a deer."

Arthur almost froze, but forced himself to haul Lenny to his feet. "What happened to John?" 

For a moment, Lenny didn't respond. When Arthur glanced at his face, he saw that the kid's eyes were slipping shut. He shook him--gently; not enough to cause more damage than what had already been done. "Lenny!"

The kid snapped back to reality. Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. He was still with him. Good. The gang had already lost enough people. They didn't need to lose anybody else. 

"What happened to John?" Arthur asked again after he whistled for his horse. This particular stallion wasn't the best, but it would have to do for now. "Did they..."

He trailed off, unable to bring himself to continue. If Marston hadn't made it, if those bastards had killed him, left Arthur unable to fix things between the two of them... he would slaughter every last O'Driscoll he could find. 

"They took him," Lenny breathed. "Mean-looking guy with long hair. Said he had 'unfinished business' with Dutch."

Arthur briefly shut his eyes. Shit. It was worse than he could've imagined: Colm O'Driscoll himself. Given that son of a bitch's reputation, dying would be preferable to whatever he had in store in his fucked-up mind. 

"Dammit!" Arthur clenched his fist, then mounted his horse, easing Lenny up behind him a second later. "Let's get you back to camp. I gotta talk to Dutch. We'll figure this out."

_We have to,_  he thought as he urged the stallion forward. _Goddammit, Marston, you fool..._

The ride back to camp was, thankfully, short. Arthur pushed his horse faster than he had any business doing, but hell, he was determined to get Lenny back safe and sound. Seemed like the least he could do after all the poor kid went through. He had only been riding with the gang for a few months. Nearly getting killed probably hadn't been part of his plan. 

Javier and Charles were standing guard when Arthur practically mowed them over. He dismounted practically before his horse even stopped. Mercifully, Lenny was still awake and alert. Charles helped him down while Javier went to clear some room in a cabin. Arthur, as much as he wanted to make sure the kid would be okay, charged off toward his own cabin, where he knew Dutch and Hosea were busy making plans. 

"We have a problem," Arthur ground out as he all but burst through the door, letting in a flurry of snow. Two heads jerked his way, and two pairs of eyes found his. "Goddamn O'Driscoll's! They shot Lenny and..." He took a breath to compose himself. "They got Marston."

Both Hosea and Dutch stood. The former went to grab Arthur a drink, while the latter had him sit by the fire. Arthur tried to shrug him off, but the events of the day were catching up, and he soon found himself in a chair. He barely registered Hosea handing him a shot of whiskey, but took it anyways. 

"What exactly happened?" Dutch asked as he paced the cabin. "I thought John was still in bed."

Arthur shook his head. "I did, too, but apparently, Pearson sent him and Lenny out hunting. The goddamn fool."

"I'll go have a word with him." Hosea shrugged into his coat. "You just warm yourself up and tell Dutch everything you can."

After he left, Arthur continued the story. When he got to the part about Colm's "unfinished business," Dutch narrowed his eyes. 

"Lenny'll be okay, Arthur," he assured. "John too. We'll get him back and then I swear we'll kill every last O'Driscoll there is."

Arthur raised his drink to his lips, then abruptly stood and threw the glass into the fire. The flames roared. "Oh we will," he snarled, turning to face Dutch completely. "And Colm's gonna _wish_ he was dead after I'm through with him." 

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go! Please leave a review and let me know what you thought. I'd really appreciate it. 
> 
> -Nopride


End file.
